


someone else's fire

by feralphoenix



Series: you can only use your own [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Codependency, Other, Spoilers, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4920346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They close their eyes and nod. They’re only very small, like you, but you think they look poised, holy, in the low light. “I’m counting on you to help me, then.” Chara lifts their chin, raising their eyelids halfway to look at you directly. “We should get started now. Before anyone has a chance to suspect.”</i>
</p><p>Or: Five times Chara successfully convinced Asriel not to tell anyone, and one time—</p>
            </blockquote>





	someone else's fire

**Author's Note:**

> _(for fear tonight is all_ – from the minute I was born I’ve been crying that I want to disappear)
> 
>  
> 
> endgame spoilers warning!!!!!! man go clear the game first dont spoil yourself
> 
> lots of talk about suicide/depression; also the general grossness of poisoning/long-term illness

A list of things you wish you’d noticed from the beginning, instead of being too caught up in the perfect prank revenge idea to care:

  * Chara actually let you sneak up on them. You were sure by now, after months of living with them day and night, that catching them unawares was impossible.
  * They smiled for you when you asked, but it was just a small smile, as if they couldn’t be bothered to make any actual effort to fake it convincingly.
  * Their small hands were clenched; their knuckles white. The shadows under their eyes, darkening for days, looked like bruises.



But you were delighted to get a smile out of them at all; you always were. That was enough for you to gloss over everything else. It was only through their reminding you of your mistake with the flowers that you started to notice how that smile was thin as a whisker, more brittle than ice.

You let your own smile fade, a little. “Um, anyway, where are you going with this?”

Chara narrows their eyes and says something very quiet.

“Huh?” You prick up your ears. “Turn off the camera? Okay.”

 

 

“You can’t tell _anyone,”_ Chara says in the end, pulling their hair back with both hands as their eyes rove over your face. “I mean it, Asriel. Not a word about this to your mom and dad.”

“But,” you try to argue. There’s something hard against your hand—you’ve clenched your fist around your locket at some point, you guess; Chara’s words just sucked you in and they were all you could pay attention to.

“They’d just try to stop us and you know it.” They let their hair fall around their face, lank and messy, and bite at their thumbnail distractedly. “This is a chance that monsters can’t afford to pass up, isn’t it? How many humans do you usually _get_ down here, because I was under the impression that I’m the first most of you’ve ever seen.

“Asriel, I want this. I wouldn’t be bringing it up if I didn’t. You don’t want to be stuck here forever, do you? If I can do that for you—that’s more than I can ask for. It means even my life can have some sort of meaning in the end.”

What they’re saying makes sense, but you know why they climbed the mountain, and it makes you nervous. “But, Chara. Poison…”

“It’ll be the easiest way to make it look natural,” they say. Their voice is calm, like something out of a nightmare, and from underneath their bangs their eyes have a steady glint that reminds you of when your dad talks about leadership and responsibility. Well, you expect that of your dad—he’s the king, it’s his job. Chara just looks exhausted. “Your parents took my knife, remember? And if I tried to kill myself with a weapon, they might heal me, and be suspicious of anything else I might try.”

You remain silent, watching them with mounting anxiety.

“You’re the only one I trust enough to go to with this,” Chara says. Their eyes close. The diffuse light of New Home softens the edges of their eyelashes. “I could never surrender my soul to anyone but you, Asriel.”

Their words make your heart beat faster, and you squeeze the camcorder in your hand, unworking your fingers from around your locket even as Chara reaches up to touch its twin, gold and glittering on their thin chest.

They’re definitely right about this maybe being the only chance to destroy the barrier. It would make you both heroes. It would be an end to your people’s captivity, and you’re supposed to be thinking of their future, right? You’re the prince, one day you’ll be king, and it’ll be your job then.

But the thought of killing people—even the bad people from the village who hurt Chara—makes your insides squirm. You don’t know if you can do it when the time comes. And even if it won’t be permanent, just thinking about watching Chara die…

“I… I don’t like this idea, Chara,” you say at last. Your voice cracks when you get to their name.

They scratch at their bangs, forehead crinkling. “Asriel, are you…”

“Wh—what? No, I’m not…” You close your eyes as their image starts to blur, wiping your free hand over your face quickly. The fur on your cheeks is damp against your palm pad. “…Big kids don’t cry.”

Chara’s expression softens a little. “It’ll be okay,” they tell you.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Mostly you just want to convince yourself, but also you kind of want them to keep looking at you like that.

They cross their arms and cock their head to the side. “You still sound worried,” they say, soft, and you feel your face flush. You were never so glad you have a furry face before you met Chara; when you blush it doesn’t show nearly as easily as it does on them. It’s your (probably only) real advantage. “What, do you think it’s a bad plan? Or do you just not believe in me enough?”

“No! I’d never doubt you, Chara… never!”

Their fist squeezes on their locket, and this time they smile for real. “Then what is there to worry about? We’ll be heroes if we pull it off, you know.”

“Y—yeah!” Your heart’s pounding hard. You’re scared, and—still kind of sad. But you do trust Chara. You _do._ You want to keep being the person that they can trust, too. “We’ll be strong! We’ll free everyone.”

They close their eyes and nod. They’re only very small, like you, but you think they look poised, holy, in the low light. “I’m counting on you to help me, then.” Chara lifts their chin, raising their eyelids halfway to look at you directly. “We should get started now. Before anyone has a chance to suspect.”

You swallow hard, repeat to yourself that you believe in Chara, and try to stamp out that feeling like you want to cry. “I’ll go get the flowers.”

 

 

It does not go like Chara promised. They are violently sick, so bad that your mom puts her foot down that they need to stay in bed until they recover; their hands and mouth burn; they are feverish and miserable. But they don’t die.

“But you ate twice as many as we gave Dad,” you say to them when your parents finally leave you alone. Your hands are shaking. Your voice is too. “It was supposed to be quick and painless. You said it’d be quick and painless. Chara, what’s going on?”

“Just a miscalculation,” they assure you, completely dismissive. “I guess buttercups are more poisonous to your kind than to humans. It’ll take more, and longer. It doesn’t matter as long as the end result’s the same, and I guess a long diminishing sickness will be less suspicious anyway. I don’t really care. Get me more flowers, Asriel.”

Something about the set of their eyes scares you, really and truly, makes you cold down to the pit of your stomach. You can’t look them in the face, so you bow your head and look at their hands instead. Their fingertips and palms are scored with ugly sores. Human skin is so much more sensitive than your tough pads, even though they can eat fistfuls of poison and still live.

The bones of Chara’s wrists are so sharp where they peep out from under their long sleeves. You think about the scars you know cover Chara’s body, and you close your eyes hard, willing yourself not to sob.

“I don’t like that you have to suffer,” you say. “Everybody does want to be free, but not enough that you have to hurt yourself for it.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Chara replies, and they sound _impatient,_ and that’s scarier than anything else. “Asriel. The flowers. We started this and we’re going to finish it.”

You try to think of something to say, but you can’t come up with anything at all.

Chara lifts their hands off the bedspread to set them on top of yours. They’re actually trying to comfort you. Somehow this makes you feel even worse.

“Asriel,” they say, gentler now. You raise your head just a little, not high enough to actually stare them in the eye, but high enough to see their locket chain disappearing under the collar of their pajamas. “It’s going to be fine. Our plan is still going to work. I can handle this much, so I need you to help me with the things that I can’t do. Okay?”

You get the feeling that it’s not okay at all, but there’s a part of you that’s still clinging to the sense of being secret co-conspirators, glowing with the knowledge that Chara trusts you. It’s taken them so long to get this far, to really be able to believe in anybody. You don’t want to ruin that for them. So you close your eyes and count to ten. You can’t stay a crybaby forever, not when you have to be the prince, not when you have to take care of Chara. They say it’s fine, so it’ll be fine. They’re not _really_ going to die. You’ll just be moving their soul to your body, that’s all. And then you’ll save everyone. Together.

So you take the voice that’s still nagging you that you ought to go run and tell your parents how Chara got sick, and you stamp on it like it’s a weed trying to grow in your dad’s garden.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll help you.”

Chara breathes out; their shoulders relax. When, timid, you raise your head the rest of the way, their eyes are soft with relief. They look almost the same as they did before any of this happened.

“I’m glad,” they tell you. “I really am. I wouldn’t be able to do this alone.”

And they lean in carefully to rest their forehead on your shoulder.

They’re too warm against you, but their breathing is slow and restful again, and even when you wrap both arms over their back slow and careful so that they’ll know it’s coming, they don’t try to pull away. You hold as still as you can, even though your heart is doing its level best to backflip straight out of your body. When you look down at Chara’s face, they’re smiling peacefully.

You finally feel as though it is—tentatively—okay after all.

 

 

It is not okay. It will never be okay. Never, never, never.

Chara gets sicker. And sicker. Their hands scar over from touching the poison flowers that you bring. They lose all the weight they gained living here in the Underground, until their face starts to look as hollow as it did the day you followed that first and only call for help. And then they just keep losing weight. One day you stay in the room when your mom helps them sponge down, and you’re scared that you’re not imagining the outline of their ribs along their side. The habitual bags under their eyes look like bruises. Their lungs make an awful bubbling sound when they breathe, and every day their bedsheets are stained with blood.

You can’t take it anymore. And you tell them that. “We have to tell Mom and Dad. I never should’ve agreed to do this. I can’t stand seeing you hurt like this, Chara, I just can’t keep doing this.”

Chara rests their face in both hands for a while. When they look back up at you, their eyes have that fierce glitter again, the one that makes you uneasy to look at. “You can’t tell them.”

“There has to be another way to break the barrier. If you have to go through all this it’s not worth it, okay? I’m going to tell them. You’ll get better. We can forget about all this.”

And Chara laughs.

It’s a rusty, sharp-edged sound, bright and derisive. You freeze in place, your heart stuttering.

“What do you think would happen if you told them? Do you really, honestly think that that would save me now? Because, Asriel, telling them how I ended up like this is also going to mean telling them what I did to the king.”

It feels like your insides have all dropped out of your body. “But that was—”

“They are not going to _care_ that I didn’t mean any lasting harm.” They go on laughing, a little hysterical now. “Oh, Asgore might take it in stride. But I don’t think it will go over that well with your mother, do you?”

“She wouldn’t—” You struggle for words. “You know Mom. She won’t do anything bad to you. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“It must be nice to be able to say that,” Chara says, their face going grim all at once. “It really must be nice. But I don’t think she’ll forgive me that easily. I know what happens to children when they’re no longer wanted, Asriel.”

You don’t want to hear this, you don’t want to think about it, you just want to cover your ears and shut your eyes and block it out. You want to yell at Chara for even suggesting something so horrible, and you also want to wrap your arms around them and promise that you’ll never let anything hurt them ever again.

“It’s too late to turn back now,” Chara goes on stubbornly, and their voice is starting to catch, and it’s awful. “You said you wouldn’t doubt me. You _said.”_

That is what you said, so there’s no real way to argue back. You just didn’t know that not doubting them would be so _hard._

“I don’t _mind_ all this, really,” Chara says. They squeeze their eyes shut, touch the back of their hand to the seams of their eyelashes. Even with them in this state, you think it’s a beautiful gesture. “It’s not going to last forever. It’ll be over soon. _As long as—”_ they set their hand back in their lap, grip the comforter so hard their knuckles go white— “you are still willing to work with me. We can do this, Asriel.”

Miserably, you nod.

You want to be able to turn all this over to a grown-up, though. There’s so much going on in your heart, and it feels too big for you to hold. Sometimes you wish you could just stop feeling anything at all.

 

 

They get worse and worse. Even your parents have bags under their eyes nowadays. People in the castle speak in hushed voices. It’s started to sink in that Chara may not be getting better after all.

Even your mother has decided to let you out of having lessons. You can’t concentrate anyway. Guilt and fear and sadness have clawed a hollow inside you, and there’s no room for you to think about anything but Chara anymore.

They can barely sit up on their own now. When they sleep, they have dreams—nightmares, really, they have to be, because what else would make them thrash and scream and cry like that? The things they say in their sleep are so terrible you don’t even want to think about them. You know why they climbed the mountain, you know how they really feel about their own kind, you know them better than anyone, but there’s still a lot of things they’ve never told you about their life. You think you understand why now.

You’ve been sitting with them for an hour now, in silence aside from their raspy breathing. They’ve folded up their body so that they can sit curled up to your chest, head tucked under your chin, while you wrap your arms around them. This is the only time they ever seem at ease, now.

It makes you remember back when they first came here, how they tended to flinch away from all contact, scrunched themself up small and unthreatening and closed their eyes as if to bear something tremendously unpleasant if they had no choice but to endure being touched. Now here they are, voluntarily pressed up against you for comfort. You’ve read in your lessons that humans’ physical bodies are much tougher than your own, but Chara is brittle in your arms, skin and bone and fever. You can’t even hug them tightly anymore, or you’ll cause them pain.

“Chara,” you say, and hesitate.

They don’t answer, but they open their eyes, so you know they’re listening.

“Let’s stop,” you say. “Please let’s stop. I can’t take seeing you hurting like this anymore. I’ll figure out a way to talk to Mom and Dad so that they won’t get mad. Even if they try to hurt you or say you can’t live with us anymore, I’ll protect you.” Tears threaten to choke you, but you close your eyes until they go away. “I don’t care if I’m weak or a crybaby or a bad prince ‘cause I’m choosing you over freeing all the monsters. I don’t want anybody to die, especially not you, even if we’re going to make it so your soul doesn’t disappear. Let’s tell them.”

Silence, for a while. Then Chara starts to make a noise. It’s soft at first; they’re shaking, and this is what makes you look down.

You nearly drop them. Their mouth is stretched into that too-wide grin you used to pester them to make because it was so funny that they could twist their face to look so creepy. They’re laughing. Chara is laughing.

But their eyes are rimmed red, and tears make wet tracks on their wasted face.

“You can’t protect me from this,” they say, and their voice is thick with some emotion you can’t discern. “I’m tired, Asriel. I’m so tired all the time. I’m so afraid all the time. I can’t forgive them, and it’s wearing me out. I just want them to be _gone,_ don’t you get it? And I’m tired of being alive. I just want to be dead, Asriel, I want to be dead _so much,_ there’s nothing I can do to stop wanting that. You can’t save me. Not from _this._ Not from a world that’s not worth living in. At least this way I can do all of you some good before I die.”

There has to be something you can say. You shake your head, try to hold Chara closer without hurting them.

“Chara…” You almost falter, and then make yourself keep going. “But don’t you see? That’s even more reason why we shouldn’t do this. If I take your soul… it’ll keep living on inside mine until I die. And Boss Monsters like me live a long time, Chara, so you’ll still be here, unable to disappear at all. I don’t know if I can help you, but I can’t make you keep suffering like this forever. Let’s talk to Mom and Dad. I’m sure there’s something they can do.”

Chara’s fingers catch at your shirt. Their hands are clumsy now, stiff from all the new scar tissue, but they cling to you with all the strength they have left.

“I don’t mind. …Asriel, you’re the only one who understands me. You’re the only person I’ve ever felt safe with. I wish—” Their voice creaks; their face contorts as if with pain. “I wish I’d been born as your heart. Then I never would’ve had to go through all this, and I could be with you all the time. So if I have to keep existing—if I could become a part of you—that wouldn’t be so bad.”

 

 

They’ve started talking about how much they want to see the flowers from outside.

Not just to you, but to everyone. It was part of the plan—creating an excuse for you to take their soul and go beyond the barrier, up to the village. But lately you think that it might also be insurance. Because out of pity, everyone’s decided to let Chara out of their room and into the garden as much as they want. That way, even if you refuse to bring them buttercups ever again, they can pick and eat them without your help.

But you want to stay with them, even now, so you support them on the stairs and down the long hall.

Here in the garden, just like where you first found them, enough light filters through the barrier for normal plants to grow. Your dad loves them, and spends a lot of his free time just tending to them. The earth here is soft. The flowers are as high as your waist.

Chara lets go of you and begins to wade into the plants, grim and expressionless. You catch their hand at the last moment, and they turn to face you. The dark circles around their eyes look like a skeleton’s eyesockets. You’re scared.

“Chara, please,” you say, gathering up all your courage. “We can still fix this. Please let’s talk to Mom and Dad.”

They don’t say anything. They just turn away, exhausted, and pull their hand free.

 

 

You line up your internal debate with every step.

Chara is the most important person in your life. They have been since the day you met. This is what they want, you told them you would help, and breaking your word would mean betraying their trust. They have a hard enough time trusting people. You don’t want to do anything to mess that up. You don’t want them to hate you.

But you also don’t want to kill anyone. You don’t want to hurt anyone. And just because you’re helping Chara, that doesn’t get you out of the responsibility for hurting them, does it? Just like it won’t be only them killing humans if it works. That blood will be on your hands, too.

You want to believe in your parents. You want to believe in the goodness of your fellow monsters. This isn’t like the place where Chara came from. But their words remain in your heart, as though they’ve been carved there.

You’re not ready for this. You never were. But it’s too late to complain about that, isn’t it? As long as Chara is someone you want to protect, as long as you’re your parents’ son, this was always going to be your problem one day.

And your feet have already carried you to the door to your father’s room. You sniffle some, wipe your face dry, square your shoulders. You clutch your locket—not for good luck, so much, but sort of in prayer.

Then you lift your hand and knock on the door. The low voices inside stop.

“Come in,” you hear your father rumble: Gentle, kind, as tired as you feel. You take a deep breath and open the door.

Once you’re inside, you close it, lean on it some. Your father sits at his desk, and your mother stands next to him, her hand still on his shoulder.

“Mom, Dad,” you say, heart starting to beat wildly, “I have to talk to you about something.”

 

 

There’s a moment—a brief one—where your mother’s eyes go flinty, and you’re terribly afraid that Chara was right after all. Then she closes her eyes and breathes out.

“Of course. That explains a great deal about why our magic was not working. If it is a matter of poison, they can still be healed even at this point. I will go administer proper treatment now.”

She moves towards you—towards the door behind you—and you spread your arms, blocking her way. She raises her eyebrows at you.

“Please,” you say feebly, and then louder: “Please don’t be mad at Chara.”

Your mother looks—almost forlorn for a moment, but then she smiles and rests her warm hands on your shoulders.

“Rest assured, my son,” she tells you. “I will not harm Chara. If there is to be any punishment for their—ah, indiscretion—that is something that we can discuss after they are well again. Does that sound all right with you?”

“Let your mother go, Asriel,” says your father, who has not got up from his chair the entire time. His eyes are very bright. “It is all right.” And to your mother: “Look after them, Tori.”

Your mother nods. You take another deep breath and stand aside, and she’s past you in a sweep of blue robes. The door shuts behind you with a soft click.

Across the room, your father has gotten down from the chair and bends slowly to sit down on the floor, which is what he always does when you’re talking alone together. You walk in slow shuffling steps to the chair and sit down on it. Your dad’s tall, so this puts you just about on eye level.

“You did a very hard thing today, and I am proud of you,” he says.

You have to wipe your face again. “Chara’s gonna be so mad at me. They’ll never forgive me. How am I supposed to live with that?”

Your father is quiet for a moment. “By remembering that you did the right thing,” he says at last. “You saved not only Chara’s life, but the lives of the humans on the surface. You prevented your friend from becoming a killer. And if a time ever comes when the way they feel changes… they will forgive you then.”

He’s smiling, but he looks sorry. You blink hard and sniffle.

“You only had to bear this burden because of your mother’s and my negligence,” your father goes on. “We knew that Chara’s feelings for their fellow humans were complicated, but we did not try to reach out to them the way that you did. Their body, we will be able to heal easily… Their heart and mind are a different matter. But we have a chance to do so now, because you brought the matter to our attention before it could get out of hand. You have done the work of a grown man today, Asriel. I am sorry that we left that burden to you.”

You feel foolish, but since you’re whimpering like a baby anyway— “You won’t let Mom chase them out of the house?”

He smiles. “I do not think that she will try,” he says, “but if it comes down to that, yes, I will find some way to placate her.”

That does make you feel a little better. “Will I be able to see Chara again soon?”

Your father scratches at his beard. “You know that they will probably be upset,” he says. “It will be for the best that we wait for their condition to stabilize, so that they do not make their illness worse again. But, yes. You will see them again soon.”

And he rises to his feet: A mountain of warmth and protection, seeming to radiate warmth throughout the whole room.

“Come with me, son,” he says, and you get to your feet too, taking his large hand. “Let us go have a cup of tea.”

You try to smile. “As long as it’s not golden flower tea.”

Your father raises an eyebrow at you. “Asriel, I am not sure that is an appropriate joke.”

It’s not. It’s really not even funny. But you giggle anyway.

 

 

Of course, it doesn’t end as neatly as that.

You look to your parents for reassurance. Your father nods; your mother touches your shoulder briefly. You take a deep breath, blink back impending tears, and pad cautiously over to the bed, to the angry knot in the middle of it.

“Howdy, Chara,” you say softly.

They push themself up, face creased with rage and something rawer. Their hair is disheveled; their eyes are still lined in shadows. But their face looks fuller than it did a month ago, the last time you saw them face to face. It fills your chest with a high sweet pain to see.

 _“Why?”_ they yell at you, not even seeming to care that your parents are right there listening in. “I trusted you! I thought you were _safe!”_

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” you say, and even though Chara looks mad enough to spit, you take another step closer. “I am. I really am. I’m not sorry I told, but I’m sorry I betrayed your trust when I did it.”

“Then why?!” They ball their hands up into fists, leaning in to pound you on the chest. The blows are very light, and hurt about as much as when they used to lazily throw pillows at you across your bedroom before lights out, which is to say not at all. They’ve regained enough strength to at least inflict pain if they wanted to. It’s heartening. Or maybe they’re just too upset to really try.

You wrap your arms around them. Loose, so they can wiggle free if they want, even as weak as they are. They just hit you again.

“Chara, when you talked about… about wanting to die… you said that you wouldn’t mind if you had to live on as part of me,” you say, searching for the words even as you stroke their hair awkwardly. “But I’d mind. I would mind, okay?

“Because, if our souls were united in one body… I’d get to be with you all the time, but I wouldn’t be able to hold your hand or hug you. I wouldn’t get to tell you good morning, or complain to you about Mom and Dad being embarrassing, or bother you to make funny faces for me to make videos of. We couldn’t play anymore. We’d always be together, but it wouldn’t be the same.

“I’m sorry that I’m making you play along with what I want against your own will. But you’re my best friend, Chara… you’re special, okay? You’re the only one who really gets me. I don’t want to let you go to someplace I can’t touch you anymore.”

It’s the only part of their face you can actually reach, so you lean down and nuzzle their ear. Which is… still really embarrassing, especially because your parents are there watching, but—your helplessness, and your hope, and your grief, and the bright fizzy feeling you get from holding onto them like this—trying to find words to express it all would be even _more_ embarrassing.

“You had me help you up ‘til now, so I think it’s only fair if it can be my turn now. You’ve got to stay alive. You just have to, okay? You’re too important.”

Chara doesn’t say anything.

They don’t say anything, but—the fists they were using to pound on your front have got a death grip on your shirt, and their shoulders are shaking, and it feels damp right over your heart, where their face is pressed.

It’s still not okay. It’s not going to be okay for a long, long time. But—you hope it will be, someday.

**Author's Note:**

> this got some really cute fanart from [bewept](http://bewept.tumblr.com/post/130942554437), [rainglazed](http://rainglazed.tumblr.com/post/133232549705/), and [singinghotdog](http://singinghotdog.tumblr.com/post/146989761536)! go check it out!!


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